thomas-mugwort

June 23, 2025

There was a scent like honeycomb
From mugwort dull. And down upon the dome
Of the stone the cart-horse kicks against so oft
A butterfly alighted. From aloft
He took the heat of the sun, and from below.

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Thought:

“I lack the World, for I move like a Ghost through it.”

Peter Ackroyd | Hawksmoor

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